


Running to Freedom

by Lisacreature



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Fluff and Angst, Historical, M/M, Romance, Smut, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisacreature/pseuds/Lisacreature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men born from different parts of the world and yet share the same destiny. </p><p>This is their story...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running to Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter and boy did this take a while! I had an idea but I just couldn't put it down on paper. But thanks to my wonderful betas I have been able to write it to a (hopefully) good standard. 
> 
> The romance is yet to start but don't worry it will happen soon. 
> 
> This isn't going to be a massive, infinite chapter story (I really don't have the time for that) but this isn't going to be a oneshot either. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment! :)

Running to Freedom

 

My father knelt in the pure, white snow; his skin was sickly pale and his eyes were emotionless and unseeing; a blank void in his usually expression-filled face. He seemed almost dead to the world, his spirit no longer with him - as if it had been tortured to death - leaving my father a broken shell.   
He and I were situated in the middle of nowhere, several miles away from our little village. The massive fir trees loomed over us, as if they were curious. They wanted to see what these little humans were up to. 

I glanced back at my father, his wrists and his ankles bound by chains, wearing only his night clothes - not even a scarf. There had been no time or opportunity to grab anything warmer; the guards had stormed into our small home, hauled us out of our beds and dragged us mercilessly through the snow.   
We had done nothing wrong. We paid our taxes and attended Church every week, and yet here we were surrounded by guards, with guns aimed at our heads.   
A guard stalked towards us and went to grab me.   
“No, please, take me!” My father begged, his voice cracking from lack of sleep and the desperate desire to keep me safe. 

The guard only shrugged, unconcerned, but complied none the less. Turning, he dragged my father away from me as I cried desperately for them to stop.   
Five guards followed suit, guns slung across their shoulders and their footprints corrupting the snow. At least they were leaving some trace of their brutality, so I would not be the only one with knowledge of their cruelty.   
“Father!” I cried.   
He glanced up at me and said with a smile, “This isn’t the end my son...death is only the beginning.” I knew, right at that moment, that his smile would haunt me… haunt my dreams and my life; it would be imprinted on me for the rest of my existence.   
“No! Please stop this madness!” I screamed, but my scream fell on deaf ears. A man in army uniform approached me and slapped me across the face. 

“Twój ojciec jest zdrajcą i zasługuje na śmierć.”  
(Your father is a traitor and deserves to die).

I lashed out, and slipped out of the guards iron grip, punching him in the face; I gave a victorious smile as I heard the guards nose break. Anger clouding his face, the guard kicked me hard in the stomach, chuckling as I fell to my knees, breath struggling in my chest. I lay winded in the snow, my face turned towards my father in the hope that something, anything could be done to save him. 

The General smirked and grabbed my bruised face, whispering in my ear with a gleeful viciousness “You are going to watch this...Men get ready to fire.” 

“No! No! Please God no!” 

“Don’t worry Stiles...the Lord will forgive me, the Lord will forgive me...your mother will forgive me...”

“Aim!”

“I love you son.” 

“FIRE!”

The gunshots reverberated in my ears and I barely hear the dull thump of my father’s crumpled body collapsing onto the pale snow.  
The snow is no longer white; red creeps across the surface as the blood soaks in… its red with my father’s blood, his blood. I feel like the snow; no longer pure or innocent. My father has just been murdered right before my eyes and I did nothing but cry! I am as guilty as the men who shot him! 

I am screaming, yet the world is silent; I am calling for God, but he does not answer; I cry for my father but he does not respond. His body lies lifeless in the snow.   
In a fit of desperate anger I break free from the guard’s grip, thrashing wildly in my despairing attempt to escape. I grab a discarded gun and blindly start shooting at the approaching men, a roar filling my lungs; I shout my grief to the sky. When I open my eyes all I see are bloody corpses, a few even twitching.  
In shock I drop my gun and run, as fast as my legs will allow. Trees, people and buildings become a blur as I run for my life. 

I don’t how I manage it but I arrive back to my village; I know I can’t stay here for long, that it won’t take long for the guards’ superiors to notice that something went wrong. I quickly enter my house and grab a few things: a book, a few loaves of bread, my mother’s wedding ring and some warm clothes.   
As I leave, I turn around and take one last glimpse of my homeland; the vast forests which surrounded the village are slowing dying of the frost and snow, the fields of flowers have disappeared, and the vast blue lakes has turned into ice.

I turn my back and run, the impoverished little village in which I grew up in beginning to shrink and vanish into the landscape: the thatch cottages, the smoking chimneys, the small farm, the empty schoolhouse and the church. All of it, left behind.  
That night, as I huddle around a small campfire with teary eyes, I hear a lone wolf howl for its pack; but unlike me, it has found its fellow pack and they howl together to the full moon throughout the night. 

 

Meanwhile in England...

 

The wooden cart creaked loudly as the horse galloped over another bump in the dusty, old road. Derek’s bottle green eyes were wide open, but he still couldn’t see anything in the pitch black, there wasn’t even any light from the outside, it was past midnight and it was a cloudy evening so there wasn’t even an eerie glow from the moon. 

Besides, he couldn’t risk making a noise unless he wanted to be caught and be handed over to the authorities. No, it was best if he stayed motionless and silent.   
Derek hugged his knees closer to his chest feeling so alone and isolated. He was once a happy man; he had a loving family, a warm home and a good job in the family business. But now those days are long gone, he is no longer that lucky man who took everything for granted. He’s now a fugitive on the run from the law, and he is cowering in fear in a smelly, wooden cart.  
Though Derek tries, sleep still evades him; unwanted and nightmarish memories continue to plague his mind.   
“Derek, mum and dad are gone now, but that doesn’t mean that you’re alone. I’m here and you are not alone and never will be...”   
Derek can still envision Laura’s teary smile, her soft hair and her warm hazel brown eyes.  
“Never alone...never alone...”  
The bitter sweet memory gradually fades away, as if evaporating into the atmosphere. 

The old battered cart made a sudden and violent jolt, shaking Derek from the dark and cloudy depths of his depressive thoughts and memories.   
His eyes start to droop as if begging for a wink of sleep...his mind complies and is dragged into another dream.  
Screams and cries for help echoed throughout the house, but Derek couldn’t move, it was as if he was being held back by a cruel, invisible force, making him watch his family die, forcing him to be submissive...  
The smell of burning flesh floated in the air, as if taunting him, reminding him that he couldn’t do anything, that he was weak.   
Derek struggled as hard as he could but to no avail, his limbs didn’t listen to his commands.

As Derek gazed with a guilty and horrified expression the fire eventually disappears, leaving only ashes, a constant reminder to what he has lost.   
Though his body is restrained by an invisible force it still doesn’t stop him from screaming and howling to the moon until it hides under the horizon.   
Once again the young man is jolted awake by the rough travel and the bumpy roads. As he opens his eyes he notices that he can see the rotten cargo and his muddy boots; the carts interior is now lit by a golden glow as the sunlight falls through the gaps and holes in the carts woodwork. 

Derek squints his eyes through a small hole, though the outside landscape is still rural the roads are getting busier as merchants and other travellers make their way to London. He watches plump, old aristocrats drive on by with their ridiculously expensive carriages; there are several merchant carts being dragged along by tired looking horses and mules, and there are even a couple of stray horseback riders heading down the same direction as everyone else...to London.   
The green eyed man silently sits back down and grabs a luscious red apple, which by some miracle is still ripe; he takes a bite out of the apple and contemplates his destination. 

London...a metropolitan city, where people come from all over the world to work, to live or to escape to; either way the city won’t notice one more person, one more fugitive. He’ll be safe there, he assures himself, he’ll get himself a simple job and live out his days...alone, but alive and free...


End file.
